HMA: Fragments/Courtroom Chaos
A small peek into the life of Mark, now working in a prestigious, if dangerous, and ridiculously stressful firm. Courtroom Chaos "I...I yield!" A voice cried out, its tone painted with equal parts exhaustion and desperation, the sound of a man at the end of his ropes. A collective sigh escaped everyone present, though in one corner, beneath an upended bench, one instead groaned in exasperation, before promptly flipping off the bench and into a nearby wall. With a flat face, and a steady monotone that somehow dripped with venom, the man groaned out three, simple words. "I despise Mondays.." br Mark yawned as he sipped his coffee, groggy from last night's debacle. Despite the obvious lack of sleep in his eyes, the man forged on, trying to flatten the mop of white hair on his head, his suit floating behind him as a tie snaked its way around his neck. His secretary, without bothering to knock, barged into his room with a distinct frown, dropping a manila envelope on his table. Immediately, she began detailing what was expected of him, such a ritual having occurred several times in the past, and more in the future. "Case in one, no, two hours. Two and thirty, if you truly - and trust me you do, - need the time to prepare. BB sends her condolences, though by her smirk I'm fairly sure she enjoys sending you to these little hells. Good luck sir." Finishing with yet another apology, she immediately walked out, heading off to her tiny office to do what she does best - fudging appointments and schedules to buy him more time. Heaving a sigh, Mark sat down, flipping open the envelope as he sipped on scalding hot coffee, not minding the temperature in the least. Initially, the paper was a blurry mess of imprints and pressure, perhaps from when it was shoved hurriedly by one runner to another before finally reaching him. With knife-like precision, he embossed the letters while flattening the rest of the offending marks on the paper, finally able to properly 'read' the document. Moments after skimming through all the pages, he suppressed the urge to connect his face with his palm, already able to hear the pealing laughter of his superior at his misfortune. br Court began ten minutes late, courtesy of his secretary's machinations, in the form of the judge being tardy for the very first case in the morning. This had the unwanted effect of making him fairly irate, but beyond that, her professionalism held her tongue in check as court proceeded in normal fashion. The initial twelve jurors were grilled by both sides, and in the end, had eliminated four that were judged to possibly be biased. Opening statements were then exchanged for the following hour, and thus began the prosecution in earnest. Despite proceeding in a fairly normal manner, Mark had a nagging feeling that everything was going far too easy, that despite all appearances of a very well made defense, there were enough holes in just the right places. For now, he decided to alleviate the pressure momentarily, stalling as long as he can with the witnesses until a break was called for. During this break, Mark began to eavesdrop, raising an eyebrow at the information he gleaned. A slight smirk adorned his face, making a show of checking his watch before re-entering the room and proceeding with the case. All in all, the prosecution was a farce, a mere formality as it was getting fairly apparent that both sides wanted the accused in jail. Finally, it was the accused's turn to plead, and to everyone's surprise, he pleaded for a trial by combat. Eyes shut in consternation, Mark turned away to facepalm, berating himself for thinking that it would be so simple. A swift review met by disbelief soon proved that indeed, the laws concerning the particular crime, and specific capabilities of the person allowed him to demand a trial by combat. His client, predictably, requested for him to champion him as he lacked sufficient ability to do so. Despite the same offer being given to the accused, he handwaved the defendant, confidence exuding from his posture. Within moments of his handcuffs being removed, a burst of cold dropped the temperature well below freezing, sending most people present reeling with the sudden change. Changing the area into one conducive to his combat form, spikes of ice materialized immediately, hurled with deadly precision towards Mark. Meeting both with a fist, he reduced them to fine crystals in a fluid motion, before turning on his heel and replying with a kick. With the entire room being well within his sphere of influence, the force of the kick immediately transcribed itself to the appropriate area, catching the accused in the gut and sending him reeling. The accused immediately replied with a pillar of ice dropping on Mark as he fell to the floor, which was blocked with ease. It soon proved to be a mere distraction, as the accused closed the distance whilst Mark was busy, launching him to a nearby wall. Pulling himself out, Mark frowned, and closed in to do the same. This continued for a short while, with each call and response more destructive than the last, reducing the area to a pile of rubble. The jurors have erected a shield around them, whilst the judge simply watched with amusement. Over the course of the trial, Mark had continually increased the mounting pressure on the accused, while the accused responded by bringing the immediate temperature closer to absolute zero. Seeking to end this once and for all, Mark moved in for the kill, before being immediately warded off by a wall of ice, to which he merely frowned and immediately powered through. As he shattered the final layer of defense, Mark brought down a massive force of gravity as he performed an axe kick, one which was met by three smaller pillars of ice bursting around the accused in a last ditch defense. Despite his best efforts, the pillars shattered. It had the beneficial effect of sending Mark careening into a pile of benches, which buried him as he wrecked even more in his crash. This did not stop the true attack, however, which was a simple, if massive redirection of force into a single point, which just about crushed the accused as he was sent face first into the floor. Choking out a yield as he began to run out of breath from the insurmountable force, Mark finally let up after five solid seconds of prolonging his suffering. The trial concluded without much further ado, with the accused declared guilty, and was soon led away by a guard to be escorted to prison. A round of applause for the exciting course of events was had, and several men gave Mark a pat on the back. Despite this, he couldn't help but frown as he spied a familiar figure in the back row, a grin plastered on her face. He sighed at his superior's antics, and once more, in a defeated tone, "I really, really despise Mondays." Category:Stories